


you can give to my heart (thousand words or more)

by clair_de_neptune



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Bethesda robbed me of seeing Serana heal after Harkon dies. In this essay I will, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Implied (Past) Sexual Assault, Implied (Past) Violent Acts, Serana shares her trauma with the DB
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 08:10:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21250190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clair_de_neptune/pseuds/clair_de_neptune
Summary: One year after Harkon's death, under the cover of night and the velvet wingbeats of the ancestor moths, Serana reveals a piece of the past.Title is a lyric pulled from "Stretch Your Eyes" - Agnes Obel





	you can give to my heart (thousand words or more)

**Author's Note:**

> If you didn't see in the tags, this fic has a mention of implied sexual assault and past violent acts. For these reasons, the fic is rated M, but none of these things are described in any detail.
> 
> I've always wanted to see some sort of healing process, or at least the beginning of one, in-game after you kill Harkon. I have a feeling I might write more things like this in the future, but here's a scene I imagine happening after Serana and the DB form a close, trusting bond.
> 
> I love the idea of Serana being a romance option, but I feel like she has to be allowed the space to process multiple lifetimes of trauma/compartmentalizing trauma. So, here is a scene of Serana and the DB in the Ancestor Glade, as Serana begins to process.

Lilith hears Serana enter her room long before she’s awoken. Vampires don’t technically need sleep, anyway – it’s more of a convention and a break than anything else – so it doesn’t take much for her to stir. But Serana entering her room isn’t typical, and instead of turning to greet her, she decides to let Serana approach. She’s moving slowly, like she’s hesitant, and finally she sits down silently next to Lilith. For a while, she doesn’t do anything. She can feel Serana’s eyes on her, though, contemplating. Something isn’t right.

Finally, Serana places a hand on her shoulder. “Lilith?”

After a second or two, Lilith opens her eyes and turns her head to face her companion. “Serana? What is it?” she asks, beginning to sit up.

“I’m sorry, I…” Serana breaks her gaze away quickly, fisting some of the loose furs on the bed. “I’m just—” a short, deep breath. Before Lilith can interject, she’s standing. “I shouldn’t have disturbed you.”

“Serana.” Lilith gently grabs her hand, and pulls her back to face her. “It’s alright. You’re more than welcome to stay.”

That elicits a little smile, but Serana is still shifting on her feet. Lilith releases her hand and studies her for a moment. “You know,” she says, “it’s not like_ I_ actually need the sleep either. Us being creatures of the night, and all of that.”

Serana scrunches her nose. “I’m pretty sure that’s what they also call revelers.”

“You don’t see a bottle of ale in my hand now, do you?”

“No, but I could go get you one. I’m pretty sure the innkeep is still awake, believe it or not.”

Lilith laughs. “Please, no. I don’t want to have to hear her quip about how pale we are again, _‘even for Nords’_.” Her brows tighten, and she looks at Serana carefully. “Are you alright?”

Serana ducks her eyes away again. “…Not exactly.”

The room is dark—not that it matters much to either of them—but Lilith tunes herself in to other things: the creak of the floorboards as people walk by their rooms, the sporadic snaps of the fire, the innkeep, Valga, humming softly as she cleans glasses and puts them away. The cold dampness of the air, despite being indoors, as is wont to be in Falkreath. If it isn’t the roof of the inn closing on top of you, it’s the grey-slated sky, bearing down closer and closer with the rumbling voice of Arkay.

“How about we go somewhere else for a while?”

* * *

Ancestor Glade is perhaps one of Lilith’s favorite places in Skyrim. For being one of the few people in Tamriel that know its location, and possessing the freedom to access it, she doesn’t visit as often as she would like. But—she thinks as they pad quietly into the cavern—she is grateful it is always with Serana.

She looks at her companion, whose mind is elsewhere, gazing beyond the moths and mountain flowers and hotsprings down below, and takes a deep breath. They had never seen the Glade at night. During the day, soft, powdery sunlight bathed the grove in warmth, and ignited the brilliant colors of the flowers and light pinks of the canticle trees. But come nightfall, darkness shrouded the Glade, save for the moonlight that filtered in from above and casted a faint glow on the bubbling springs. The entire world was muffled by the low roar of waterfalls and the rustling of pine needles and the soft wingbeats of the ancestor moths, and they held her and Serana like a well-kept secret, a whisper of the wind between the blossoms of the trees.

Serana starts down the long set of crumbling stairs to the bottom of the cavern. Wordlessly, she follows. The farther they go, the darker it gets, and Lilith has never felt safer. While the air in Falkreath bore down on them, here it gave to their presence, enveloping them like a cloak against a frigid morning. She runs her hand along the rock to guide herself down—even with her improved vision, it is dim—and she relishes the softness of warm, damp moss against her cool fingertips.

They finally reach the springs, and Serana sits down against one of the ancient arches leading to the place where Lilith read the Elder Scrolls only a year ago. It was beautiful—and almost blinding—if not for the ancestor moths’ protection. She could just make them out, enjoying the freedom of the night. She knew they were passing the word to each other in their soft, fluttering way, that the two of them had returned—_what a curious thing, for we have not had familiar company in millennia._

And though the blood of her dead enemy churns through her veins, Lilith feels very much at peace.

“You can come sit with me if you want,” Serana calls.

Lilith walks over and sits next to her. “Sorry,” she says, “I was just thinking.” She stretches out a leg and leans against the cool stone. “Thank you for inviting me over, though. I’m sure the ancestor moths would’ve thought I was a statue and had a go at how my clothes taste.”

Serana laughs, and it’s _full_, and _warm_, and even though this place is so cavernous, it feels like it’s contained between just the two of them. Lilith begins to laugh, too, a low, sputtering giggle that only the people closest to her hear. (There’s only one person that does.)

“Don’t make them regret protecting your sanity while reading the Scroll,” Serana chuckles.

“Deepest apologies, ancestor moths,” Lilith manages, finally catching her breath, “I did not mean to equate you to your cousins of lower intellect.”

“Surely they’re above the base desire of cloth-eating.”

“Surely.”

The weight of Serana’s head suddenly falls against Lilith’s shoulder. She stiffens, only for a second, not because she minds, but because it’s unexpected—so she relaxes quickly, easily, and lets out a soft breath through her nose. Nothing can touch them here. The Dawnguard won’t come stomping through with their flashing steel and blades again; no, they are protected by the night and the velvet wingbeats of the ancestor moths.

They sit like that for a long time, comfortable. The springs gurgle to each other, and the roots of the flowers and the trees slowly churn the dark, fertile soil, and the moths hum, sometimes close by, sometimes far away. And Lilith thinks, with Serana perfectly still other than the gentle rise and fall of her chest, as their glowing eyes regard the magnificent landscape they can barely see, that she could stay here forever.

“Thank you.”

It doesn’t startle Lilith, because it feels like they’ve been having a conversation this entire time, in the quiet. And though she knows Serana likes her own space, the fact that Serana has moved that boundary a bit, at least for this moment, gives her peace of mind, and she takes hold of her hand and squeezes.

Serana squeezes her hand back, and Lilith’s chest tightens in an oddly delightful way. They return to regarding the scenery, taking in the faint smell of moss and pine and flower intermingled with the rush of flowing water.

“There are some nights that I sleep, and I’m fine.” Serana’s voice is unfamiliarly steady. Like she’s rehearsed this, maybe, or is bracing herself. “Other nights, I feel like I’m sealed away again, and no matter how hard I try to pull myself up, I’m trapped.”

A long silence follows, slowly eating its way across the entire Ancestor Glade, and Lilith dares not disturb it.

“And there are the nights that…” Serana takes an audible breath in, and squeezes Lilith’s hand tight. “…tonight.” Another breath. “All I can see is my own blood pooled around my knees and my palms. It’s searing against my skin because the rest of my body is so cold I can’t feel…” Her grip in Lilith’s hand closes like a vice. “My body feels like its torn to ribbons. Sometimes, I hear him laughing, but only when I stop to breath in, because I can’t stop screaming.” Her entire body is quavering, now. “He will do anything in his power to break you. And for a Daedric lord…he does what he pleases. He…”

It is only now that Lilith notices that her shoulder is damp. Serana’s next words are barely a whisper. “He takes what he pleases.”

Lilith suddenly jolts back to a conversation they had, when they hardly knew each other.

_The ceremony was…degrading._

She stays quiet for a long time.

The darkness takes Serana’s words and tucks them away. It lets the springs bubble and churn it, lets the breeze carry it through the branches of the trees and to the humming moths that will stow it in the buds of the mountain flowers. The Ancestor Glade does not hide this secret in shame, but in her trust.

“Thank you.”

Serana sits up and looks at her. The faint glow of her eyes reflects off the wetness of her cheeks, and though Lilith can hardly see her, despite how close they are, not even the shadows can conceal the confusion and vulnerability in her face. “For what?”

In an unlikely twist, Lilith is all too aware of herself, of their hands intertwined, of Serana’s cheek, she thinks, if she cupped it gingerly and wiped the tears with her thumb. But she reminds herself that this is not about her, and that they have lifetime after lifetime to revisit that. “For trusting me.”

Serana’s gaze softens. It’s something that Lilith has never quite beheld in her before, this expression of slow release, relief. It makes her want to wrap Serana in her arms and hold her, not because she needs protecting – Serana is plenty capable – but because she aches to be close to her, to envelop her in gentleness, and tenderness, and love.

She wants to be Serana’s resting place.

Something in Serana’s eyes shifts in recognition. And in that moment, as Serana lowers her head into Lilith’s lap and guides her free hand into her hair, she knows that it’s true.


End file.
